Daughter of Poseidon
by PhoenixFeather0012
Summary: Maris Stone led an ordinary life - until she meets Percy Jackson: son of Poseidon, savior of Olympus, and her brother.


In my dream, I was being chased.

I couldn't see what was chasing me, but I heard its heavy footfalls and ragged breathing.

I was running along the beach, the water churning and the heavy clouds dark. The monster roared behind me, and my only rational thought was to get away from it. My feet were bare, and sharp pebbles in the sand cut the bottom of my feet.

Then the air grew cold. My breath fogged in the air in front of me. An icy mist started creeping along the beach, freezing palm trees, the sand, and everything in its path.

The mist swirled around me, plunging me into an icy cold. I froze. Literally. My fingertips turned blue, and frost raced up my entire body. I heard the monster roar once before it was eerily silent, and I figured it had been frozen too.

As I stood on the beach frozen in place, the ocean froze. Ice cracked and spread out over the churning sea in sheets thick enough to run on.

Then the laugh. An icy, humorless cackle cold and icy as the mist freezing everything around it.

Snow swirled above, spiraling from the clouds to the ground, and a figure emerged.

She had an unnaturally pale complexion, like snow. She was tall and graceful, and even more so in her white dress that floated in layers around her. Her hair was raven black, braided over her shoulder, a sharp contrast to the whiteness around her. Her eyes were deep brown, but there was no warmth in them, and her lips were curved up in a cruel smile.

"Run, little demigod," she said, and her words echoed. "You'll run out of time soon enough."

And she disappeared in another flurry of snow.

_What do you mean? _I wanted to scream. _What's a demigod?_

But I couldn't move, couldn't speak.

The beach shifted and blurred into another image. The dark clouds and frozen ocean was replaced by a bright sky and a grassy hill. A stone gateway with an inscription I couldn't make out stood proudly at the top of the hill. Another figure was there, leaning against a column of the gateway. But it was a guy this time, maybe a year or two older than me.

He was tall and lean, wearing an orange t-shirt and jeans. His hair was dark and windswept, and his eyes matched the color of mine: startling blue-green. He was turning something between his fingers, and I noticed it was a pen.

"You're close," he said, looking at his hands. "But you're running out of time."

Apparently everyone wants to tell me I'm going to die.

"Just keep searching," he said.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Where am I? What do you mean?"

But it didn't seem like he could hear me.

"Just keep searching," he repeated and he looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "You're close."

Why did he look so familiar? Something about him tugged at me, but I couldn't figure out why.

"Maris," he said.

How did he know my name?

"Maris! You're going to be late!"

I woke with a start, not the boy saying my name but my mother, shaking me awake.

"You overslept," she informed me. "You'll need to hurry."

I groaned and pressed my face into my pillow, but the image of the green-eyed boy was burned into my mind.

"Mom, do I really have to go?" I mumbled into the pillow.

"I know you don't want to, but you don't want to get held back, either," Mom said, opening the curtain and letting bright sunlight in.

"Can't I get, like, I private tutor or something?" I said. "Everyone thinks I'm stupid because I have to go to this summer school, but it's just the dyslexia."

Mom smiled sadly. "I know. I would, but . . ."

I knew. Money like that was scarce. Mom wanted to be an artist, but her paintings often didn't sell. When she wasn't painting she was searching for a job, but no one seemed to want to hire her.

Mom ruffled my hair and smiled. "Well, after school we can go out to get ice cream, alright?"

"Deal," I said. She knew how to bribe me.

I forced myself to get out of bed and dress myself. Well, the clothes matched at least. I trudged to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and ran a brush through my hair. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Long, straight black hair, blue-green eyes like the boy's in my dream, and a spray of freckles across my nose.

I didn't look like Mom, who had reddish-brown hair and blue-gray eyes. She was a blend of color, from her hair to her eyes, her paint-splattered jeans, and the purple bandana in her hair.

'_You have his eyes, you know,'_ she would say to me. _'His eyes, and his hair.'_

I've tried to imagine what my dad would be like hundreds of times. He died when he was fishing, when his boat sunk. No one found the body. No one knows why the boat sunk. But he's gone. I hadn't even been born yet. Mom doesn't have any pictures, either. I've never had the nerve to ask why.

"Maris, come on!" she called from the kitchen. "You'll miss the train!"

I tore away from the mirror and went into the kitchen. She handed me a piece of toast and my backpack.

"I know it's tough, but it'll be worth it," she said encouragingly.

_When?_ I wanted to say, but she seemed to be in a good mood, and I didn't want to ruin it.

"Okay, Mom," was all I said as I walked out the door.

**. . . .**

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in an uncomfortable desk, in a stifling hot classroom, a disapproving teacher in front of me, and my unfinished work lying on the desk.

Miss Kerr picked up my paper. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. May I ask you, Miss Stone, why you neglect to do your work?"

My face burned. Miss Kerr had decided she despised me the second I walked into her class. She constantly called me out in front of the class, made me feel completely stupid, and humiliated me in front of everyone.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"What?" she said loudly.

"I don't know," I said again. It wasn't that I didn't know how to do it. I've struggled in history and English since third grade. I was diagnosed with dyslexia in fourth. I failed tenth grade English, and I had no other option that to take summer school.

"You don't _know?_" Miss Kerr said loudly.

My hands subconsciously clenched into fists. Maybe if I stared hard enough at her head it would burst into flames.

"I can't read it," I said through gritted teeth.

"You can't _read_?" she repeated. She turned to the other kids, who had made no more progress than I had with the worksheet. "Tell me, does anyone else feel they are unable to do the work because they _can't read_?"

There were a few snickers. I wanted to smack the smirk off her makeup-covered face.

"No one else has this problem?" she said. She turned back to me. "I see no reason why you shouldn't be doing your work," she slapped the paper back down on my desk. "This excuse won't work. Finish the paper."

The class was still snickering and Miss Kerr smirked as I struggled to read the words. The harder I tried to read, the more the letters seemed to float off the page and swirl into a jumble of nonsense.

Across the room, a girl was on her phone texting a friend, her blank paper sitting untouched on her desk. Miss Kerr swept by her without a downwards glance. I gritted my teeth.

I tried to concentrate on reading. I hadn't even managed to get through the first sentence.

"Still nothing?" Miss Kerr smirked as she walked past me again. "Laziness. I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your mother about your behavior."

My hands clenched so hard my pencil snapped in half.

**. . . .**

When Miss Kerr released us at the end of class, I couldn't go home and face Mom. She called her right there, saying loudly so every student could hear her, about how I was a disappointment and refused to do my work.

Instead of taking the train home, I walked in the opposite direction of the train station, trying to delay going home for as long as possible.

I went into a small coffee shop and sat at a small table in the corner. No one else was in the shop, and a waitress lounged against the counter, eyeing me as I entered.

My phone started ringing. I pulled it out of my pocket. It was Mom. I couldn't answer the call. I didn't want to hear the disappointment in her voice.

The waitress came over. She had dyed blond hair and a ring through her nose, chewing gum rather obnoxiously.

"Are you going to order anything?" she asked, blowing a bubble.

"Um, not right now, thanks," I said. She rolled her eyes and walked away.

I watched the people walking past the shop. A man in a crisp business suit and red tie, walking quickly as he glanced at his watch, a couple holding hands, looking as though they didn't have a care in the world, and a young guy in all black, holding what looked like a . . . Happy Meal?

I gasped. Next to the black-clothed boy was the boy of my dreams. Literally.

It was the same lean figure, disheveled dark hair, and startling green eyes. He had an easy grin that even coaxed a smile out of his friend with the Happy Meal, who looked like he despised sunlight.

"Look, if you're not going to order anything you have to leave," the waitress said, and I left without a word, my eyes trained on the green-eyed boy and his black-clothed, Happy-Meal-carrying, sunlight-despising friend.

They turned down an alley, and when I turned the corner, they were gone. Simply melted into the shadows.

"What?" I gasped aloud. What there a side entrance to a building here? There couldn't have just disappeared.

But they had.

**. . . .**

"Maris, we've talked about this," Mom said, her hands on her hips and a smear of blue paint on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling mortified, humiliated, disappointed, and shameful. Mortified and humiliated that Miss Kerr actually called Mom to tell her I refused to do work, disappointed and shameful that I had failed Mom again. "It's the dyslexia, Mom. It just gets worse. I _told_ her I couldn't read it."

"I know," Mom said. "But your teacher said you weren't even remotely making an effort.

I almost yelled in frustration. "Mom, I am! There are people who sit in the corner texting and she doesn't yell at them!"

"This isn't about them!" Mom said. "This is about you and your education!"

"I'm trying!" I said, gesturing with my hands, something I tend to do a lot when I'm upset.

"It didn't seem like it!" Mom said.

"She's lying!" I exclaimed.

"Maris, listen to me!" Mom snapped. "You don't seem to understand what -"

"I understand perfectly!" I cried. "I'm a disappointment!"

"That's not what I -"

"It didn't seem like it!" I snapped, my voice rising. "'It'll get better,' you said, but can't you see it's not? You never had to go through this, you don't know what it's like to struggle like this or to be looked down upon, you don't know!"

Mom stared at me sadly, and I realized the impact of my words. She did know. She would try to sell her paintings on the streets because no one would sell them in her stores, and people wouldn't even look at her. She struggled just to gain enough money to pay the rent for our apartment.

"I – I didn't mean -" I stumbled over the words and I couldn't find them.

"Maris -"

I turned, wrenched open the door, and ran.

"Maris!"

Tears stung my eyes as I ran out of the apartment complex, down the street, away from the hurt in her eyes.

It was almost nightfall, and I knew I shouldn't be out, but I kept running.

Finally I slowed to a walk, unable to keep running. I looked at my surroundings and realized I had no idea where I was.

There was an empty alley to my left. I ducked into it, leaned against the brick wall, and broke down. I couldn't believe I had really just said that to Mom. She worked hard to support us, to support me, and I had just thrown it back in her face.

Ungrateful, disrespectful, unworthy, disappointment . . . that words rolled around in my head as tears ran down my cheeks. I cried for what felt like hours, and when there were no more tears, silent, shuddering breaths shook me.

Then I was angry. Angry at myself, at Miss Kerr, at the dyslexia, at the kids who laughed.

There were several empty glass beer bottles lying nearby. I picked one up, and without thinking, hurled it against the wall, where it shattered in an explosion of green glass.

It felt good to break something.

I threw another one, and another, until there was a pile of colored glass glittering faintly on the ground.

I picked up the last one, ready to smash it against the wall, when a voice suddenly rang out.

"What are you doing?"

I jumped and whirled around. I nearly dropped the bottle. It was him, the boy of my dreams, the friend of the kid in black. Right there, all disheveled hair and green eyes.

"I – I -" I struggled to find words. It was definitely the same guy I had seen in my dream. There was no mistaking it.

He stepped into the alley. His easy smile was gone, replaced by a reproachful gaze. His hand kept creeping towards his pocket.

"I'm just – I needed – I needed a way to vent," I managed.

The boy nodded. "I just heard the noise and came out to see what it was. I live up there." He pointed up at the building, and I finally recognized it as another apartment complex.

"You look – kind of familiar," he said, studying my face.

"I – I do?" I was still struggling with words. I noticed a tattoo on his upper arm, a single, thin black bar below a trident.

"Who are you?" I finally blurted.

He gave me that easygoing smile.

"I'm Percy. Percy Jackson."

**End of Chapter One**


End file.
